


Fair Lordhawke

by flitterflutterfly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Scott's POV, Shapeshifting, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:38:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterflutterfly/pseuds/flitterflutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott “The Wolf” McCall is a master thief who escapes from the dungeons of Beacon Hills only to be nearly killed by the evil King Peter’s captain of the guard. Saved by the mysterious Derek and his pet hawk, Scott agrees to help the sour man break into Beacon Hills to kill Peter. Only, every night Derek disappears to be replaced by a strange wolf and a slightly hyperactive fair lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [kink meme prompt](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/3353.html?thread=2489881) asking for a Ladyhawke AU. It’s not necessary to know the movie to read this, I don’t follow the lines or scenes exactly… it’s really its own story that’s just very similar to the movie.
> 
> Thanks to miss_aphelion for the awesome movie-type poster!

  
 

Booted heels clicked on a cobbled stone floor, the sound echoing in the silent corridor like the coming of doom. Prisoners, ranging from grim faced lads to scarred thugs to withered old men, averted their eyes as one as the guard passed their cells with a barely contained sneer.

The guard stopped once in front of a young boy. The child couldn’t have been older than his eleventh year and yet he sat shivering behind bars of the inescapable dungeons of the castle town of Beacon Hills, home to the king of the land himself.

Had the guard been raised differently, had his heart perhaps not been a black hole in his chest, than mayhap he would have felt pity for the boy he stared coldly at. Instead of pity, though, what he felt was a sort of empty satisfaction as he calmly told the lad that he had been found guilty of his crimes.

At dawn, the boy would face his death at a public hanging for all the town to see.

The lad stifled his urge to cry out, already fearful of the whippings he’d received from previous statements of his own innocence. Covering his face with his hands, he curled into a ball and cried.

The guard ignored him, sure that the young and grim-coated face would serve as an example that any who challenged the king’s laws, even a child, would be given no mercy. Whistling to himself, he continued on his path through the dungeons.

At one of the last cells, the guard stopped, turning to frown at the empty stone. He could have sworn that just this morning a prisoner had been behind these bars and he couldn’t remember if it had been one who’d been executed that day.

Stepping closer, the guard placed a single hand on the bar and then cursed as the mental swung underneath his fingers. With the creak of rust and age, an entire section of the steel door crashed inwards.

“Men!” the guard yelled. “Sound the horn, the wolf has escaped his cage!”

The other prisoners poked their heads up as the flurry of guards suddenly came to life and the sound of the warning horn blew in the distance. The younger and newer of felons sat up straighter, suddenly hopeful of their own chances, but the older and grimmer simply shook their heads.

After all, even if one were to escape their cage, everyone knew that escaping out of the city was impossible. The gates were heavily guarded, no one came in or out of Beacon Hills without being checked.

Even Scott “The Wolf” McCall wouldn’t stand a chance. Or so they thought.

Down below the city, Scott’s head came up slightly as he heard the horn sound, but instead of panicking, he grinned. His rags that served as clothes were coated in all sort of unmentionable slime, but up ahead he could make out the light of a drain’s escape and he knew he was now past the city walls.

As the sun outside rose its way past dawn into day, Scott broke free from the sewers, well outside the city now. His clothes smelled and his body protested the strain on such little nourishment, but the smile on his face was bright as he made his way towards the nearest cottage, prepared to steal some proper clothes and provisions as he made his way far far away from Beacon Hills.

~~0~~

“What do you mean, he has escaped?” King Peter of the royal line of Hale growled.

Chris Argent, the captain of the royal guard, straightened. His eyes pointed straight ahead, as if meeting the king’s gaze would kill him. With Peter’s temper, he knew it might. “I’ve been informed that the wolf has gone missing, your majesty.”

“Don’t call him that!” Peter snapped. “That  _thief_  is as much a wolf as I am a peasant.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Chris agreed. “McCall was not seen going through any of the city gates, and yet my men have scoured the city and have seen no sight of him nor heard no mention.”

The king threw up his hands, pacing along the rug just in front of his elaborate throne. “That little runt stole from me,  _me_ , your king! And you let him escape the day before his execution?”

“He will be found, your majesty,” Chris assured the irate king. “I will take a party out myself. He will not be allowed to live.”

“Good,” Peter murmured, settling slightly. He sat heavily back on his throne and assessed Chris with manic eyes. “Bring me his head, Captain Argent. Should you fail, your daughter’s own will take his place.”

Chris stiffened before he could help himself. “Of course, your majesty,” he said with a tightly controlled tone.

Peter smiled cruelly, leaning back in his throne. “Dismissed.”

Chris bowed and stalked out of the throne room.

~~0~~

Scott was walking down the side of one of the well-worn roads leading eventually out of the kingdom when he heard the telltale sound of horse hooves. He tightened his grip on the stolen pack over his shoulders and lowered his head.

He knew that if he looked suspicious than the patrol would certainly stop to check on him. He hoped that if he kept his face down and his shoulders hunched, they would pass him as just another weary traveler.

No such luck, Scott thought with a pounding heart as he heard the hooves slow. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw as the patrol began to circle him, cutting off his escape into the woods to his right.

Scott cursed under his breath and raised his head. On the white stallion in front of him, Captain Chris Argent raised a single eyebrow.

“Well, good morning, Captain,” Scott said with a false smile. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“For myself, it certainly is,” Chris stated. “To get the chance to capture you,  _again_.”

“Only you, Captain,” Scott assured him. His eyes were on Chris, but his mind was racing, calculating his chances of ducking under the belly of a gelding behind him. At least, he hoped the other guards were riding geldings, they would be less likely to trample him as such.

“I would like to know, Scott,” Chris said with false pleasantry in his voice. “How you escaped your bars. Just so we know in the future how to fix the problem.”

“You know, I would love to help you out,” Scott stated. “But I think maybe I might want to keep that to myself. You know, since you’ll be taking me back.” He sent the guard a taunting grin, though on the inside he knew that if he let them drag him back to Beacon Hills he would be killed immediately in front of the king and his court.

Scott valued his own life, so imagining his death was far from pleasant.

“I am sorry, Scott,” Chris said, sounding almost truthful behind the mirth. “But I’m afraid his majesty has ordered me to perform your execution myself. It seems he will be simply satisfied with your head on a velvet pillow.”

“And we all know how you like to  _satisfy_  our beloved king,” Scott retorted, though his knees had gone weak.

Chris’ eyes flashed and he raised his crossbow, his favored weapon as Scott knew personally. “Trust me,” he said. “This will satisfy me far more.”

Scott’s throat ran dry, but he stood rigid in the face of the man who surely would enjoy his death.

There was a shout and Scott knew he should turn his head, but his gaze was caught in Chris’, just as Chris was caught in his. Brown clashed with blue, a frozen moment where all Scott heard was the pounding of his own heart.

A horse neighed, frightened, and then Chris broke away, his crossbow already drawn up. Scott watched as another guard’s horse reared, falling into Chris’ stallion. The stallion bucked and Chris went off in a tangle of finery and weapons.

In the confusion, Scott felt himself being grasped by the shoulder and dragged forcefully, ducking flying limbs and kicking hooves. Scott glanced over to his rescuer and saw a strong back clothed by a black tunic. He had a sword in the hand that wasn’t grasping Scott, its blade red with blood.

“Stop!”

Scott turned, though he knew he shouldn’t, to see Chris standing with his crossbow pointed at him and his rescuer.

The stranger spun in place and Scott caught a glance at the rough face of a man several years older than him, with dark hair and hazel-green eyes. The man snarled at Chris.

Chris’ weapon lowered, his face filled with shock. And then the stranger was dragging Scott into the woods and out of sight.

~~0~~

“My king,” Chris murmured, on his knee before Peter.

“You have failed me,” Peter told him. “Do you remember what I promised?”

Like he could forget, Chris thought. His head came up. “Please,” he said. “Sire, there were… complications.”

“I do not accept excuses,” Peter roared. “You!” he called to a guard at the door. “Bring me young Allison.”

“No!” Chris shouted, but the guard had already disappeared. He turned to the king. “Please, your majesty. I had him, he would have died if not for-”

Peter frowned, his red-hinged eyes catching Chris’. “If not for?”

Chris licked his lips, his heart hammering in his chest. “Derek, your majesty,” he murmured.

“Derek?” Peter froze. “What does Derek have to do with anything?”

“He rescued the wo- McCall,” Chris said. “He tore through my guards and escaped with the thief just as I was to pull my trigger.”

“Now why would he do that?” Peter muttered, but by the fact he’d turned from Chris to the window, it was to himself. “Derek, Derek, what are you thinking?”

Peter smiled suddenly, a cruel twisting of his lips that mangled his face harshly.

“Sire?” Chris asked.

“Oh, this is good,” Peter said, laughing. “This is very good.” He spun suddenly, mad eyes back on Chris. “Your daughter is safe, for now. But, Captain, you will capture Derek and McCall and bring them both to me.”

Chris hesitated, and then took a chance. “And the hawk, your majesty?” he asked.

Peter’s eyes softened slightly, as if in memory, before they hardened into a fury deeper even then what had been there at the mention of Derek’s name. “The hawk you can kill.”

~~0~~

“I should thank you,” Scott said as they arrived at what must be the stranger’s camp. A circle of rocks surrounded the remains of a fire, besides which bones signified the remains of a meal. There was a pack lying on the ground next to it a long walking staff lay.

Perched onto of the staff, a beautiful hawk watched them both. It was tethered to the staff, Scott saw, with a leather strap and yet even at their arrival it made no move to attempt to fly off. It wasn’t hooded and its golden brown eyes blinked, before fixating on the stranger.

“I need no thanks,” the man stated, breaking Scott of his observation as he turned back to him.

“Still, I would like to know the name of the man who saved me,” Scott said. “I’m Scott, Scott McCall.”

“The thief known far and wide as a wolf,” the stranger sneered. His eyes assessed Scott’s somewhat lithe form. “You look for more a man of prey than a predator.”

“I didn’t choose the name they gave me,” Scott said, frowning. “They say I sneak well at night, which I do, and for that reason they gave me that name.” He sighed. “I’d prefer owl or something similar, but when I suggested that I nearly got my head chopped off.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow and didn’t look amused, which had Scott frowning anew. “I am Derek,” he said, giving no last name.

“Then my thanks to you, Sir Derek,” Scott said with a mock bow.

Derek froze, his eyes flashing. “I am no knight,” he growled.

Scott put up his hands. “I mean no disrespect,” he said. “Just jesting.”

“Hm,” Derek muttered, turning away as he began to gather his pack. He held out a gloved hand for the hawk, which nimbly hopped upon it, allowing Derek to straighten the walking staff before the hawk jumped back onto it. Where a normal staff would be a straight stick, this one was shaped as a T, so that there was a perch by which the hawk was tethered.

“Well then,” Scott said, suddenly uneasy though he couldn’t place why. “If that’s all, I really should be going. Must get out of the kingdom, you know, before the captain returns. I’m sure you understand.” Though actually he wasn’t so sure, now that he looked at the manner by which Derek held himself.

Savage, Derek may be, but both his strong, relatively healthy form, and the straightness of his shoulders did not bespoke a poor upbringing. Perhaps he was a lord’s son fallen from grace, Scott thought, before he reminded himself that it wasn’t his problem.

“You’re not leaving the kingdom,” Derek stated.

“What?” Scott stilled. “Um, you do know that there is a price on my head.” He suddenly paled as a new thought came to him. “Surely you don’t mean to turn me in yourself.” He eyed the sword now sheathed at Derek’s hip and took a hesitant step backwards, ready to bolt.

Derek’s hand shot out like a snake and grabbed Scott by the shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere.” At Scott’s fearful gulp, he sighed. “I’m not going to turn you in, not yet at least. I have need of you first.”

“I- I don’t,” Scott shivered. “Do you have something you need me to steal?” he asked hopefully.

He was a master thief, one of the best and he knew it, but he’d made a pack with himself long ago to steal only from those who had no real need of what he’d stolen. It had made him guilty, when he’d taken the clothes he now wore and the pack on his back, but he’d left a jewel he’d pilfered off one of the guards during meal time, so he hoped the family would be smart to sell it to someone who would give them a worthy sum.

“No,” Derek said shortly. “I have nothing for you to steal, but I do have need of your skills.”

“Which skills?” Scott asked suspiciously.

Derek grinned. “You are the first to be able to sneak out of Beacon Hills in a century, ever since the city walls were erected.”

Scott shrugged. Obviously Derek had been listening to the captain’s questioning before the man had decided to rescue him. “What of it?”

“I need you to get me inside the city,” Derek said.

Scott gaped. “You want me to sneak you  _into_ the city? Are you insane?”

Derek’s grip on his staff tightened and on its perch his hawk squawked slightly. “I need to kill Peter.”

“Peter?” Scott paused. “The  _king_?”

Sure, King Peter was a tyrant, at best, but to so callously admit to wishing or conspiring for his death was an instant death sentence.

Then again, Scott had a suspicion that there was more to Derek than being a simple mercenary thug. “You will never succeed.”

“I will,” Derek said. “I need to.” There was something wild in his eyes, something that Scott couldn’t have named even if he was being tortured to say.

“I can’t… I won’t go back there,” Scott told him. Already, his mind returned to that harsh cell that he’d called home for a mere few days in waiting for his death. “You cannot make me.”

“You will lead me inside the city,” Derek stated, the hand still on Scott’s shoulder now dragging him closer. “Or I will rip your throat out. With my teeth.”

Scott gulped, suddenly sure that Derek could, and would, do just that. His eyes moved from Derek’s to the hawk perched uneasily on the staff. The air seemed to grow tight around him, constricting.

The hawk stared down at him, something eternally sad in those golden-brown eyes, and Scott felt himself nod. “Okay,” he said. “Okay I’ll lead you in the city, but I’m not helping you kill the king.”

As if a bubble of water had been pierced, the tension evaporated and the hawk looked away.

Derek let him go suddenly, grinning ferally. “Oh, I don’t need your help with that,” he said. “Peter is mine.”

Yes, Scott thought, there was definitely something going on with Derek. But he wasn’t so sure he wanted to stay around long enough to find out. Still, it seemed as though he might not have a choice.

~~0~~

Night stretched over the land like a black wave. Derek had disappeared a short time before sunset, his hawk on his hand and a pack over his back, but his staff was left at their small camp. Scott huddled next to the fire, his breath coming out in a visible gust. Winter was falling on the land and Scott was hardly prepared.

Sighing, he reached to his own pack and pulled out the stolen cloak that would serve both as a warming cloth and a bedroll. Derek had yet to return, though he’d left Scott a small morsel of leftover meat that Scott had quickly devoured.

Scott wondered if he dared to fall asleep. He wondered why he was still there, in the camp, when he could have run off before Derek had noticed. He didn’t want to go anywhere near Beacon Hills.

But something of the sadness that shone from deep down in Derek’s eyes, a sadness echoed in that of his hawks, had bewitched Scott to continue with this mad quest.

There was a crackle from the woods and Scott scrambled to his feet in time to see a male stepping into the light of the fire.

He was pale, the man, with skin that looked smooth under the flickering flames. Over his shoulders was a cloak of deep red and in his arms was a pack that Scott recognized as Derek’s.

A fair lord, Scott realized suddenly with a soft gasp of breath.

The fair lord looked at his with eyes that seemed almost familiar, before he blinked and turned towards the fire. “I hope you don’t mind?” he asked, in a pleasant voice.

“Mind?” Scott asked, wondering where the lord’s husband was.

Fair lords were special, men who could be married to noble knights and lords and even kings in the place of a woman. They were nobles themselves, always, and usually third or fourth sons, but upon completion of their training could hold just as high status as any lady could. Though they obviously could bear no children, fair lords were apt at raising them and more often then not a lord and his fair husband would adopt into their line an orphan or even a bastard child to carry their line.

No one quite knew when the tradition of fair lords had started, but many suspected it had been many years ago. Legends stated that their had once been a great sickness, the kind that targeted only women, and in the shortage of the fairer sex, fair lords had begun to be trained to take their place in certain households.

Regardless of their origins, fair lords were so ingrained in the kingdom today that the acceptance of even peasant-classed men who wished to married, despite the fact that no peasant could be trained as an official fair lord, was legal and hardly something to blink about. Scott had seen many of those couples, small cottages of two men instead of a man and a woman, but he’d never seen a fair lord.

And yet there was no doubt that was what this male was. Not by the way he was dressed in a soft tunic that hung to his frame. He wasn’t dressed in the jewels Scott knew most fair lords wore, but then they were in the middle of a rough neck of woods.

“Where did you come from?” Scott asked before he could help himself. He flushed. “I mean, my lord.”

The fair lord laughed. “Hey, it’s fine,” he said gently. “I have been traveling,” he waved a hand around as if that hardly mattered. “And I need someplace to sleep for the night. If you don’t mind…”

“Of course not!” Scott said. “Please. I mean, I don’t have a bedroll for you…” he was sure the fair lord was used to sleeping on real mattresses, made of feathers even.

“I will sleep in my cloak, as you will,” the male said, rolling his eyes. “I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“My lord Stiles,” Scott bowed.

Stiles, and a strange name that was, shook his head. “Just Stiles.” He yawned into his hand suddenly and then seemed a bit embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s late,” Scott said immediately. “My name is Scott,” he added.

“I know,” Stiles said, and then blushed. “Or rather, I was told.”

“By Derek?” Scott said, guessing.

Stiles stilled, staring at him for a moment before nodding. “Yes,” he stated softly, but before he could say more there was another crackle of leaves.

Scott turned, cursing as he realized he had no weapon by which to protect the fair lord, or himself, when he saw the form or a massive wolf standing just outside the clearing. Its eyes glinted in the fire light.

“Stiles,” Scott said. “Don’t move. It will attack you if you run.”

Stiles laughed, suddenly, and shook his head. “He won’t attack me,” he murmured, stepping forward.

Scott watched, heart in his throat, as Stiles approached the dark wolf and placed a hand on its head. The wolf rumbled, allowing itself to be pet for a moment before it pushed Stiles back with its snout and turned away.

“What?” Scott asked, his voice cracking.

“He will watch over us tonight,” Stiles said. “Worry not, Scott.”

Scott shook his head, sitting on the ground abruptly. He was dreaming, he thought, he had to be. In the morning, when he woke, the fair lord would be gone and so too would the wolf.

Stiles smiled at him, as if reading his thoughts. “Goodnight,” he said, almost cheerfully.

“Goodnight,” Scott murmured, closing his eyes against the insanity of his own life.

Against the pops of the firewood and the sounds of the massive wolf curling up to take watch, Scott thought he heard a soft, “Goodnight Derek.”

But then, he must have been imagining things, he thought as he slowly slipped away into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When Scott awoke, the sun had long since risen and Derek was putting out the remains of the campfire. On his walking staff, his hawk perched with its eyes closed in sleep.

Scott cleared his throat, wondering if he should ask where Derek had gone last night. Or about the fair lord.

But Derek raised an eyebrow at him and Scott flushed. He much have been dreaming, he thought. Hallucinating in his exhaustion.

“Come,” Derek stated. “We have much land to travel this day.”

Scott winced. He knew, after all he’d just come back from the capital city. It had taken him more than a fortnight of walking, but then he’d been found. He supposed he should be grateful to Derek for saving his life, and he was, but he wasn’t very excited about heading back the way he’d come.

They began walking soon as Scott had packed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. In silence, they made their way to the main road and trudged along. At the heat of the day, they rested and Derek got out half a loaf of bread for them to split and some dried venison. Part of the meat he fed to the hawk, who ate sort of delicately.

Scott wondered if that was normal hawk behavior, but then he’d never really been around one before so he supposed it might be.

As they got up to begin walking again, Derek untethered the hawk and let it fly off. Scott kept an eye on it as they walked past the woods and towards a large open field. Though it flew high, the hawk stayed always within sight of them. Well-trained, he thought.

Far up in the field ahead there was the remains of castle ruins. Derek seemed to be fixated on it, walking them in its direction. It wasn’t yet time to begin stopping for the night, but he wasn’t in control of this expedition so he said nothing.

Then, without warning, a crossbow bolt hit the ground next to Scott. He scrambled away from it, shouting. Men began to shout, riding from the trees in their direction.

“It’s the captain!” Scott told Derek, who drew his sword.

“Go,” Derek told him roughly, running with Scott away from the men. Another bolt shot in their direction and Derek cursed.

Just then, the hawk swooped down, crying out in a high-pitched screech. Derek stopped and turned back. “No!” he shouted.

As if time had slowed, Scott watched Chris aim his crossbow from atop his horse and shoot with deadly accuracy. The hawk went down with another screech, several yards in between Scott and Derek and the guardsmen.

Derek ran back immediately and Scott followed, because Derek was his best hope of surviving this and because there was something heartbroken in the man’s tone as he gently picked the hawk up.

“Scott,” Derek said urgently. “You must take him to the ruins.”

Scott held his hand out for the hawk without thinking, wincing as the poor thing twitching in his arms. The bolt had pierced the junction of its right wing. “What will you do?” Scott asked, watching as the guard drew closer. Chris had put his crossbow away, drawing his sword.

“Hold them off,” Derek stated. “Go! You must save him, promise me!”

“Yes,” Scott said, because he could say nothing else in the face of Derek’s obvious desperation. He bundled the hawk to his chest, careful not to press against the crossbow bolt, and without another word turned and sprinted.

He heard the sounds of fighting behind him, but Derek must be an expert at the sword because none chased Scott. He ran until he was out of breath, and then past that until the castle ruins were right upon him.

The cracked wooden door was opening even as Scott approached it. A dark-skinned man beckoned him in quickly. He wore the robes of a monk, hairless head and steady hands as he took the hawk from Scott.

“Can you heal it?” Scott asked.

“I hope,” the monk stated. He took the hawk to a back room and laid it gently on a long pallet that seemed to swamp the small creature. “I did not realize Derek was traveling with a companion.”

“It’s temporary,” Scott said. “My name is Scott.”

“Deaton,” the monk told him. “Rest, Scott. Derek will return as soon as all the guard have left.”

“You don’t think he’ll lose?” Scott asked.

Deaton glanced at him for a moment, a small smile coming over his lips, before he turned back to the paste he was making, presumably for the hawk. “Derek is far superior to mere patrol men.”

“They were royal guards,” Scott frowned.

“Even better,” Deaton stated, though he wouldn’t explain himself.

Eventually, Scott gave up watching the monk work and slipped into the next room, bare except for a wooden floor and walls to hold back the wind. He fell asleep restlessly.

~~0~~

Scott woke hours later. Dark had fallen outside the window of this small castle room and he stood slowly, stretching out his aches. He wasn’t used to the exertion that Derek was pushing on him. As a thief, he often did quick attacks and sprints, but then he would rest often during the middle of day when stealing was near the hardest to accomplish.

Scott sometimes wondered why he had the life he did, if he truly enjoyed it. There was so much he wanted to do when he was younger, but poverty and hunger had taken away too many options for him. When his mother had died to a sickness that had been plaguing their small village, a sickness that the Beacon Hills healers knew how to combat and yet had ignored by the will of the king who cared not for his people… Scott had left without looking back.

If there was one thing Scott could say, it was that he would not regret his help in King Peter’s death, should Derek somehow manage to succeed.

That was, if Derek was alive.

Scott stood and walked down the hall towards where Deaton had placed the hawk. He peered in the door and froze.

On the long pallet the hawk had been placed, Stiles the fair lord lay. Deaton stood over him, applying a paste to the lord’s left shoulder.

There, a crossbow bolt stuck out of Stiles body.

Scott watched, horrified and confused, as Deaton set aside the bowl and grasped at the bolt. “Are you ready?” the monk asked.

Stiles laughed painfully. “No,” he admitted. “But go ahead.”

Deaton sighed, bracing Stiles’ shoulder with his free hand. “On the count of three.”

“One,” Stiles said. “Two.”

Deaton pulled and Stiles screamed.

Scott left quickly, running up the castle stairs. He had no idea where he was going, only that his mind was racing, replaying that scream over and over and over until suddenly he found himself outside.

The stars twinkled above his head, alight with promise as he leaned unsteadily against the castle terrace.

A wolf howled against the night and Scott looked down. Gleaming eyes met his, the large black wolf just barely visible in the moonlight.

Something strange was going on, he thought. He just wasn’t sure what.

~~0~~

Scott slipped into the sickroom, noticing that Deaton was absent. He sat on the chair next to the pallet that Stiles was sleeping on and then flushed as Stiles opened his eyes and smiled.

“Scott,” Stiles said, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Hello,” Scott greeted. He glanced to where the fair lord’s shoulder was bandaged up. “How are you fairing?”

“I’ve been better,” Stiles said. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Scott asked, but Stiles had already closed his eyes and drifted back into a healing sleep.

Behind him, a throat cleared. Scott spun in the chair and saw Deaton in the doorway. Deaton jerked his head and Scott stood, following the monk away from Stiles.

They ended up back on the terrace Scott had just been, but he said nothing. After a moment, Deaton sighed. “You might like to know that Derek is fine,” he said. “He chased off the captain’s men and is now keeping watch.”

Scott thought of the wolf with its gleaming eyes and said, “Is he?”

Deaton seemed to study him for a moment. “Let me tell you a story.”

Scott leaned back against the old stone as Deaton began.

“There once was a Hale, nephew to our current king,” Deaton said. “Since King Peter has no children, this Hale was next in line for the throne. His name was, is, Derek.”

Scott felt his face pale, but he said nothing and Deaton was continuing.

“Derek was a temperamental boy, much like his uncle had been, and yet unlike his uncle there was someone who could calm him from his rage,” Deaton smiled. “A fair lord, young and beautiful.”

“Stiles,” Scott murmured.

Deaton nodded. “They were in love, but Stiles was young still and his father asked them to wait until marriage. Derek agreed, easily, because he still had his responsibilities and Stiles still had some training to complete.”

“What happened?” Scott asked, his throat dry. There was much sadness in Deaton’s tone and it had his heart clenching with a sort of fear.

“What neither of them knew was that King Peter also had his eye on the young Stiles,” Deaton said. “He was obsessed by the boy, in a way so very different from Derek’s own love, but similar enough that he thought it must be.”

Deaton’s hands had clenched and he was no longer looking at Scott. “One day, Stiles came to a monk and confessed to him his worries. That he was male and though he loved Derek he would be unable to bear him children to continue the royal line. That he was worried about being a future king’s consort.” Deaton’s head dropped. “Neither he nor the monk knew, but the king was listening.”

“The monk…” Scott said, because Deaton’s obvious guilt made no sense otherwise.

“Was me,” Deaton confirmed. “And I will never forgive myself for not locking the door as soon as Stiles had come to me.”

“What did the king do?” Scott asked, though he could guess at least some of it.

“He was enraged, wishing Stiles for himself but he knew that Stiles would never accept him. Not when he was so obviously in love with his nephew,” Deaton explained. “He called them both forward and in front of the whole court he disowned Derek as his heir and banished him from Beacon Hills.”

Scott frowned. “And they left?”

Deaton laughed bitterly. “If only that was all. No, Scott, then the king called upon dark magic, powers he should not known and yet did. He cast a curse upon them both so that they would never again be able to see each other’s true forms. Never again be able to express their love for one another.” He looked out towards the darkened ground, where a wolf paced around the castle. “By day, the king cursed Stiles into the beautiful form of a hawk, to transform back every sunset. And by night, Derek was made into the deadly visage of a wolf.”

Scott was glad he was leaning against the stone wall, for otherwise he would have fallen backwards. He could guess, the clues were so obvious, but to have it said was still a shock.

“The only time they are able to see each other,” Deaton said. “Is in the cusp of all existence, at dawn and dusk, when the sun just touches the horizon and they both, for one brief moment, are human.”

“Is there any way?” Scott asked in a small voice. “To save them from this curse?”

“The curse can only be broken if they both appear, in human form, in front of the one who’d cursed them,” Deaton said. “Not just for the brief moment of sunrise or sunset, but in their true forms.”

And despite the fact that by what Deaton had just said this should be impossible, Deaton’s tone wasn’t of the hopeless. “How?” Scott asked.

“In just less than a fortnight, there is to be an event,” Deaton said, his eyes back on Scott. “A solar eclipse, where the sun and moon meet in the sky.”

Scott’s breath caught as he understood. “Do they know?”

“I told Derek, but,” Deaton sighed. “He does not trust me. He wishes to kill his uncle, in revenge, despite the fact it would guarantee them stuck as they are, forever.”

Scott swallowed roughly. “There must be a way,” he said.

“Perhaps,” and Deaton truly was staring at him now. “Perhaps you will find one.”

~~0~~

Scott found himself restless as dawn approached, thinking of Stiles and Derek. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like, to be so in love and to be ripped apart by the day’s turning.

He found himself walking back to the sickroom where Stiles was, only to find that Stiles already had a visitor. The wolf, Derek he reminded himself, lay with his head to Stiles lap.

Stiles stroked it, him. “I’m okay,” he was whispering. “I promise, I’ll be fine. Deaton’s healing works wonders.”

Derek seemed to huff and Stiles laughed. “Yeah, well,” he said. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

The wolf’s paw scratched slightly at the blanket and then he was standing.

Stiles frowned. “Must you go?” he asked. “Derek.”

Derek stilled and then nuzzled at Stiles neck, careful of his wound in the way no real animal would be. Scott felt his throat close at the tears glimmering in Stiles eyes as he tugged at Derek’s fur and buried his head into him.

Scott left before either of them could notice he’d been there. He’d been doing that a lot, he thought, invading on private scenes. His heart was hammering in his chest, but instead of fear he felt a sort of rush, like all the blood in his body was rushing through him at twice the speed.

He wanted to help them, Scott realized. He wanted them to be cured. To be happy. How strange that feeling was. He had, after all, known them both for so little a time.

But he was a romantic and there was something so beautifully tragic about their story. And nothing beautiful about the pain in their eyes as they looked at each other. The longing.

Maybe he could help convince Derek about the solar eclipse, Scott thought. One thing was for sure, he was absolutely going to help break them into the city. It scared him, after all that place held nothing but death for Scott if they lost.

But Peter had done more than just ignore his people with this curse. He’d hurt his own family. His own nephew. And Derek had done nothing wrong but fall in love.

Scott wondered if he should doubt that, Derek’s love. He seemed so brash, so cold. And yet, the way he looked at his hawk, at Stiles, bespoke such tenderness and caring.

Derek and Stiles, Scott thought. He wondered if they would be fair rulers, but he imagined no one could be worse than Peter. He imagined that they would indeed be far superior. Derek, with his calculative glances and brave strength, and Stiles with his easy cheer and tenderness.

The people would rally for them, the lost heir cast out by the tyrant and the soft fair lord cursed. Scott would rally for them.

Scott laughed, suddenly, as he realized that his life had become something of a tale. The kind of tale he’d always wanted to live in, when he was younger and cold and hurting from hunger pains.

“Well here I am,” he whispered into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had not yet risen when Scott awoke to the sounds of yelling. He jumped to his feet quickly, prepared to run, only he realized he was no longer on his own. Stiles, he remember suddenly. Stiles was still injured.

Scott sprinted out his small nook of the castle ruins and towards the sickroom. Deaton met him there, already helping Stiles out of the bed.

“What’s going on?” Scott asked, approaching Stiles’ other side.

“The guards have returned,” Deaton breathed. “They are loyal to Peter, else they would not be so fervent in attacking Derek.”

Stiles whimpered a bit in pain and Scott quickly wrapped an arm around his waste. “Thanks,” the hawk-shifter murmured to him, his eyes a bit glassy.

“Once you shift your body will heal the remainder of the wound,” Deaton said to the fair lord. “You have only a bit of time left.”

Stiles nodded, then shook his head. “Derek.”

“He’s holding them off,” Deaton assured him. He turned to Scott. “Taking him to the roof. I need to help Derek.”

Scott raised an eyebrow, but Deaton was already grabbing a fighting staff and Derek’s sword. He nodded abruptly to the monk and watched him go, before assisting Stiles up the worn stairs.

They reached the roof and Scott let Stiles go, bolting the trapdoor shut so that the guards wouldn’t be able to reach them. He didn’t like how it stranded them, or at least him once daybreak struck, but he hoped Deaton and Derek would prove successful in combating their foes.

The sky was rapidly becoming lighter. Scott walked over to where the men were fighting. Derek the wolf snarled and bit, but even from this distance Scott could see that teeth against sword wasn’t as easy as sword against sword.

A loud crack sounded from behind him and Scott turned to see the castle wall crumbling away from where Stiles was leaning against it. “No!” he shouted, rushing forward.

Stiles fell and Scott grasped for him, his heart in his throat. He should have been next to him, watching him, he should be able to save him.

Scott felt skin and he grasped at it, but Stiles was slipping away from him too fast. He looked down into those expressive eyes and pleaded with the heavens.

Stiles smiled and then the force of the world was disentangling their fingers and he was falling.

“Stiles!” Scott screamed.

The sun broke over the skyline and Scott watched as just for a moment man and hawk existed in the same spot.

Scott heard a howl and his eyes moved of their own accord to see Derek standing from all fours, accepting the sword Deaton threw at him. When he looked back at where Stiles had been, he saw a hawk flapping into the sky.

~~0~~

They all decide to rest many paces away from the castle ruins, the defeated guards far behind them. Deaton sets about making a fire while Derek hunts for a quick kill to fill their empty stomachs.

For his part, Scott watches Stiles the hawk for any remaining signs of injury, but like the monk had said the hawk looked fine and was now sleeping peacefully atop Derek’s staff.

Derek returned and Scott assisted in skinning and gutting the rabbit. They sliced it up in four, Derek giving one part to Stiles and cooking the other for himself. Scott used a stick to skewer his leg of meat and as he watched it cook he thought of all that had happened so far.

His thoughts were interrupted quickly by Deaton clearing his throat. “Derek,” he began.

Scott looked and the monk and nodded, because Derek needed to know there was an option for his cure.

Derek, though, looked almost angry that the monk dared address him. Still, he said nothing.

Deaton seemed to take that as a sign to continue. “I have learned of a way to help you and Stiles-”

“Do not,” Derek growled. “You should not dare to speak of him. This is your fault,” he pointed at the hawk and Stiles looked at all of them. Scott wondered how much either of them remembered from their animal forms.

“No,” Scott said, before Deaton could acknowledge his supposed guilt. “He is no more at fault then you are for starting your relationship with Lord Stiles in the first place. It is the king who is the true culprit here and it is he we should focus our efforts on.”

Derek threw his bones aside and stood. “Do you not think I know that? I will kill my uncle. He  _will_  pay for what he did to us.”

“Kill him, if you must,” Deaton said. “But if you kill him before he sees you both in your human forms then you are forever to remain in-”

“I will hear no more of this, monk,” Derek warned. “I would not have false hope when my path is already clear to me. I know the cure is impossible.”

“But it is not!” Scott cried, even though Derek had already turned his back on them and was gathering his things.

“The solar eclipse, Derek,” Deaton said right on the cusp of Scott’s words, but Derek simply grabbed his staff and walked with it, Stiles’ intelligent eyes watching Scott and Deaton as he was carried away.

Scott sighed, turning mournful eyes on the monk. Shaking his head, Deaton gathered his own cloak. “I told you he would not trust me.”

“And he doesn’t know me enough to trust me,” Scott acknowledged.

“Derek does not trust easily, not since his own uncle betrayed him,” Deaton told him in a soft voice. “We may get another chance. Come, we should follow him.”

Scott nodded, his mind already working on how they could convince the wolf-man to do the right thing.

~~0~~

“Why, hello my dear,” Peter grinned.

Kate bowed low, her legs clad scandalously in trousers instead of a skirt. “My king.”

Peter gestured for her to approach him and she did, kissing his hand, her teeth scraping over it.

“Unuh,” Peter tutted. In the next instance he’d pulled his scepter forward, except the head had been removed, revealing a knife by which he pressed to Kate’s throat. “None of that, darling.”

Kate sighed, her eyes almost feral as she showed the rest of her neck. “My apologies, sire.”

Peter resheathed the knife in the scepter and smiled. “It has been forgotten my dear. After all, I have a task for you.”

“My king?” Kate questioned.

“There is a beast in my kingdom,” Peter told her. “A savage monster. You are the best hunter in the land, are you not?”

“Huntress, my king, but aye, I am,” Kate said. “I shall bring you this monster’s head.”

“Oh, please do,” Peter grinned. “It rides in the form of a wolf. A black wolf.”

Kate shifted, though her eyes were alight with dark excitement. “And how shall I know it is the monster you seek, my king?”

“Because when you kill it,” Peter told her. “It will not stay a wolf.”

Kate laughed, her pitch low. “Wonderful.”

Peter smiled at her, as one would indulge a child. “I knew I could count on you, my darling Kate.”

~~0~~

They’d been travelling for nearly a fortnight. The night was cold and Stiles was shivering. They were near a town, so Scott suggested they should drop by the local inn. He has some coins he knew he can use to pay for them.

Deaton shook his head. “I will watch over the camp,” he said. “And I am sure Derek will watch over me.”

Scott laughed at that, though Stiles had the grace to blush a bit at the expense of his lord. Still, he nodded to Scott’s earlier suggestion. Scott held out his arm, smiling as Stiles took it.

They walked together to the inn, staying close to the main road into town, but not quite on the road. Though Scott doubted a bunch of drunk men will turn either of them into the guard, he was not so sure for late travelers.

They were able to hear the sounds coming from the tavern when Stiles stops suddenly. A campfire was lit to their left that Scott had mostly ignored after registering the hunter sitting at it, pelts strewn about.

Still, Stiles had noticed something so Scott looked a second time and gasped when he realized that all the pelts the hunter had were of black fur. Black wolves.

Stiles was already moving forward to confront the hunter, his shoulders set with a sort of mindless determination, even at the cost of his own life. Scott followed behind, but he was slower and warier and even with Stiles in front of him.

It was only when they had reached the camp that Scott realized the hunter was in fact female. She smiled at the two of them with all the grace of a willing liar. Scott knew all about those, willing liars. He was, after all, a master thief.

And it seemed Stiles wasn’t fooled either. “You hunt wolves?” he asked in a low voice.

“Only those with coats of black,” the huntress told him. “As the king has commanded of me.”

She stood, her crossbow still lying at her feet. She did not see them a threat, Scott thought.

“I seek a wolf,” the huntress continued. “One with fur as black as the night it walks in. A monster, this wolf, whose shape is not of one form.” Her eyes were dark, fiery and scary and everything Scott would once run from.

But Stiles still stood in front of her and Scott found he could not flee.

“Have you seen such a creature, young fair lord?” the huntress asked, her hand outstretched as if to touch Stiles.

Stiles flinched back from her, but he did not deny and the huntress caught onto that. “Tell me!” she growled, much like the beast she was hunting.

Scott retracted his thought as soon as he’d had it. Derek would never growl at Stiles.

“No,” Stiles told her. “I will not.”

The huntress grabbed him by the shoulder, as if to shake the answer out of him and Scott finally stepped forward to aide, because he could not stand by and see Stiles hurt. But before he could even walk more than a step there was a great roar and out of the woods came Derek, or so Scott assumed, his intent purely on the huntress.

The huntress reared back from Stiles, reaching for her bow, but Derek was upon her in an instant, ripping at her flesh like a savage thing. Stiles made a soft noise at the sight and Derek’s eyes flicked to him.

Taking the opportunity, the huntress broke away from Derek, her legs carrying her away. Derek gave chase and Stiles ran after Derek and, seeing no other choice, Scott followed Stiles.

The scream took them all by surprise. Scott rushed forward so that he was in front of Stiles, his hand reaching to protect the fair lord, but Stiles had already come across the scene.

Derek panted over the huntress, his red eyes gleaming. On the ground, lying prone in a trap made of such deadly equipment that Scott couldn’t help but think it was her own, the huntress bled. The trap had caught her in the side and judging by the way Derek was turning away from her body she had already passed from life.

Stiles knelt as Derek approached them and Scott backed off to give them room. Derek ran his snout across Stiles’ ear, rumbling. With a shaking hand, Stiles pet his lover’s fur.

“I was afraid,” Stiles murmured. “That she’d already gotten you.”

Derek huffed, but he let Stiles hold him.

Scott looked away.

~~0~~

Only a few nights after the incident with the huntress, with snow littering the ground like change to come, Scott had decided that enough was enough. Deaton had not wanted to get the fair lord’s hope up, but Scott believed in the strong determination in Stiles’ eyes and Deaton had let him take the reins.

As predicted, Stiles had been ecstatic at the news that the curse could be broken. “The solar eclipse?” he repeated. “That is not far at all!”

“It will only take us a few more days of travel to reach the city,” Scott told him. “We will arrive in time.”

“Have you told Derek?” Stiles asked. The wolf was currently off burrowed in the snow, as his instincts probably instructed him to do on nights like these when winter had truly hit.

“Yes,” Deaton replied, speaking for the first time since Scott had begun explaining the idea. “He will not listen.”

Stiles frowned. “No,” he said sadly. “He wouldn’t believe it to be possible. He wouldn’t let himself home.”

“Then we must convince him,” Scott stated. “I just don’t know how.”

Stiles leaned back, his fair body wrapped in Derek’s heavy cloak. His eyes were sad as he looked at the campfire and Scott felt himself grow more determined. “I just wish I could see him. To touch him as we are meant to be.”

Scott found an idea form, rustling in his head like a snake in the grass just waiting to strike up. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps… if you sleep next to him. When dawn arises, perhaps for a moment you can.”

Stiles looked up and Scott could tell that he already knew how such a thing would end, but in the light of this knew hope that may never become reality, his resolve was weakened. “Yes,” he said. “I think I will.”

Several candlemarks later, Scott and Deaton watched from a distance as the dawn approached. Stiles had shed his coat and unburied from the snow the sleeping wolf, who’d snorted into his cheek as he’d curled around him.

Time seemed as still as a statue. A waiting whisper that did not quite know how to speak. Scott’s eyes were drawn to the lovers, curled as they were around each other.

On the horizon, the barest hint of light peaked just slightly to shine on the snow covered land.

“It is working,” Deaton breathed.

Scott could say nothing. He was fixed upon Stiles and Derek, their bodies both double, as if both hawk and wolf and men were one. He saw Derek’s eyes fixed upon Stiles and the same from Stiles.

He saw Derek’s hand raise, his breath slow in the chilled morning. He saw Stiles reach forward to clasp his lover.

The sun rose, beams amplifying together and even though the burrow Derek and Stiles were in had bought them the barest of moments, too soon the sun peaked upon them both.

Derek’s human hand grasped at air as time sped up, making up for its temporary slowness and Stiles the hawk flapped away, his instincts too strong for him to stay curled on the ground with a wolf-man.

He circled low, his shrieks sounding like Derek’s lonely howls and Scott felt his heart’s heart rip.


	4. Chapter 4

Derek had agreed. Of course he had. To only see his love for a moment’s time, Scott had suspected that he would realize what he’d been forcing himself to forget.

It was only a few more days travel to reach the city. Scott slipped away for one night whilst Stiles curled up next to Derek’s wolf form and came back with a cart. He doubted the wealthy merchant needed two anyway. The horses, well, he’d just have to return them later.

Or maybe not.

Deaton looked upon the new acquisitions with disapproval, but Scott just shrugged at the monk and reminded him that they were going to bring down the king of the land, so in the end a little stealing wasn’t even near the top of the trouble they could get into trouble with.

“How are we getting through the gates, then?” Deaton asked. “This will not fit us through those sewers of yours.”

“Ah, but that plan was before we had you, sir monk,” Scott said cheerfully. “Stiles and I came up with a plan.”

Derek looked up from his breakfast and then over at where Stiles the hawk was preening. He didn’t say a word, but his expression said enough.

“We shall wait until night falls again,” Scott explained. “Deaton and Stiles will ride at the front of the carriage, bringing Derek in as if a prize to the king. After all, it’s not secret that he’s been looking for black wolves.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt so Scott kept going.

“I’ll hide in the back of the cart and slip out just before the cathedral. There’s a passage from the sewers that gets right inside. You said, Derek, that your uncle would lock the main doors to hold court during the eclipse. I’ll unlock the doors and allow you inside.” Scott grinned. “Then you and Stiles turn back to normal, you can kill your uncle, and we all live happily ever after.”

Derek snorted. “There are so many things wrong with your plan, thief.” Scott waited, but Derek just sighed. “Still, it is the best one we’ve got. Monk?”

“I suppose,” Deaton frowned. “It will have to do.”

~~0~~

Just before dawn, Scott tethered the last horse to the carriage. He ducked under the steady mounts, glad to have procured beasts who were steady enough to not be frightened at the scent of wolf in the air.

“Are we prepared?” Deaton asked.

Scott nodded and then turned to Stiles, who hugged a cloak closer to his body, one hand softly stroking Derek. “Here we go,” he said, walking with Derek to the back of the carriage. Derek jumped up in it and Scott approached with a chain.

Derek growled and Scott paused. “Let him do it, sourwolf,” Stiles chided softly. Scott bit back a laugh as Derek turned his gaze to the fair lord and consented to letting Scott wrap him lightly in chains, enough for it to look as though he’d been captured but so that he could still escape if needed.

Finished, Scott smiled at Stiles, who smiled back easily, and then jumped in the carriage himself. He curled up in a ball and let Stiles cover his body with several bolts of cloth and hay.

The world around him was now too dark to see, so Scott relied on his ears to orient himself as Deaton and Stiles closed the back of the cart and walked to the front. He heard Derek’s soft growl as they began to move and then all he could concentrate on was the bumping and jolting of the wheels over rough terrain.

They were close to the city and the sun was still yet above the horizon as the cart stopped and Scott heard the muffled sound of the guards. The carriage doors was opened.

“That’s a mighty beast!” a guard said with just a bit of fear in his tone.

“And that’s all ye got back there?” another guard asked. Scott forced himself to stay perfectly still, but before the guard to come back to check, Derek growled.

“He’s still alive!” the first guard yelled.

There was a scramble and Scott held his breath, cursing his inability to see what was going on. Then, “we thought the king would like to see the beast’s life fade for his own eyes.”

Deaton’s calming words were enough, it seemed, and the noise died down. “Yes, of course,” the second guard said. “You’ll have to wait until open court, which won’t be until this afternoon.”

“We shall drop by a tavern for the day, then, won’t we milord?” Deaton murmured.

“I would love to,” Stiles answered. “If that is acceptable to you gentlemen?”

“Of course, milord,” the first guard said quickly. “We’ll let you on your way.”

Scott grinned under the cover of the blanket, even as Derek growled again. He heard the door slam shut. Soon, the carriage was once again moving along.

Throwing off the constricting cloth, Scott crept his way towards the front. Derek’s eyes were bright, glowing in the darkness and Scott winced. The carriage jolted once more before coming to a stop.

The doors swung open and Deaton stood, silhouetted by the sun just rising over the horizon. Scott watched as from behind him, Stiles shrunk, his face elongating into a beak as his arms flapped twice and then suddenly were wings. When he finally had the idea to turn to look at Derek, the wolf was already a man and was glaring at him.

Scott tilted his head to the side, as if to show he was not a threat for Stiles’ heart. He didn’t see how he could be. It was so obvious how much the fair lord cared for this rough once-prince.

“We are near the Howling Inn, just as you requested,” Deaton said to Scott.

“Good,” Scott nodded. “I’ll get inside the cathedral. You two just be ready.”

Deaton snorted. “I hardly have much to do,” he said. “It is you two that have to do all the hard work.”

Stiles perched on his lap, Derek looked only slightly less threatening than usual, but the glare he pinned Deaton with was still powerful. “You’ll be guarding Stiles. Do you not think that as hard work? If he is harmed before the bell rings…”

“Worry not,” Deaton told Derek, his back straight. “I will not let anymore harm come to Stiles. I never would have intentionally.” His gaze dropped, then rose again. “Before the bell rings and the eclipse casts its shadow over the sky, I will have Stiles out of his jesses and into the cathedral for Peter to see. You have my word.”

Derek nodded. Scott swallowed, now suddenly remembering his job. “I should go,” he said. “We don’t have that much time.”

“Wait,” Derek said. He reached behind him and took an extra sword, which he handed to Scott. “You might need this.”

Scott grasped the sword, his gaze meeting Derek’s squarely. “Yes,” he said. “I might.”

~~0~~

The sewers were just as nasty as Scott remembered, but he pushed through the slosh and the smell. It wasn’t as though he had anyone to impress on the other side and who knew, perhaps the reek would be an advantage.

There! At the ladder, Scott climbed slowly, listening. He could here the echo of a voice he only vaguely recognized. He climbed closer.

“-on this magical day,” King Peter, or so Scott assumed, announced. “My noble court, my loyal followers, this is indeed to be a great day. A great feast will occur at midday, to celebrate the joining of the sun and moon, open to all those of pure descents. I should expect dancing and merriment.”

Scott’s fingers gripped tightly on the ladder rungs, overwhelmed for a moment by his rage. The king would feast while his people starved? He wondered if this was a commonality of the high class, but of course he knew it must be. Feasts, after all, were the perfect time to steal what he could to distribute through the rest of the town.

Shaking his head, Scott pushed up on the grate, quietly as he could. There was a soft squeak, but Peter’s voice overtook it easily. He swung himself up and quickly replaced the grate.

The primly dressed nobles of the court didn’t even glace his way, their eyes fixed up on the king, standing before his throne, scepter in hand. Scott turned his eyes away, his ears blocking out the tyrant’s voice so he could concentrate. The cathedral’s main doors were just there and he approached them, hiding behind a great pillar.

The last few steps would be open to the eyes of the king himself and the royal guards standing around him. Scott glanced over, seeing Chris holding posture just behind Peter’s throne. He froze as he saw that Chris was looking right at him.

Scott sprinted for the doors. He waited for the sound of the shouts, but it was the king who finally cried, “You there! What are you doing?”

Scott heaved the large wooden block up and it fell to the ground. He pulled the door open, revealing Derek. The wolf-man had cleaned up, his dress that of a noble, all black and silver, but his eyes were familiar and Scott bowed.

“Derek,” Peter breathed.

Derek stepped forward, his hand upon the hilt of his sword. “Uncle,” he greeted. “I have come here for two purposes.” He paused, his eyes sweeping over the terrified nobles. “By midday, I promise to have killed you, or died trying.”

One could have heard a pin drop in the silence of the cathedral. And then Peter growled, almost like the wolf he’d made his nephew into. “What are you waiting for? Guards, kill this traitorous boy.”

“I am no boy,” Derek shouted. He drew his sword. “Not any longer.”

Scott stepped back, drawing his own sword. Several guards rushed in his direction, too frightened by the prospect of facing the brooding man to pass up the opportunity to fight the weaker opponent.

Glancing at where Derek was sword to sword with Captain Argent, Scott took several more retreating steps and then turned, running up the stairs that led to the currently abandoned upper level of the cathedral.

Guards chased him. Scott spun around, his blade meeting that of one of the guards. He kicked out and the guard went down, unused to the kind of dirty fighting Scott had been taught by streets and gallows.

Another guard replaced that one and Scott found his arms moving without thought, blocking strike after strike. His breath was coming fast, too fast, and he stumbled backwards. The guard tripped with him, having expect to make contact with what was now empty air. Scott kicked up and the guard’s body went flying over his head.

There was a great shatter and Scott turned to see the massive stained-glass window breaking outwards by the force of the guard’s flying body. He covered his face as glass shards scattered through the area.

In the center of the room, the sunlight now stretched across the floor like a carpet. Scott looked at it, and that at the open door of the cathedral. He frowned, wondering where Deaton and Stiles were.

There was a yell to his right. Scott scrambled to his feet, meeting the blow of yet another guard. The guard pushed him back to the corner of the upper level and Scott found himself being forced to continue to retreat. This man was more experienced and bloodthirsty by the smile on his face. Scott kicked out and the guard’s sword slashed down, cutting into the side of his boot.

Scott stumbled backwards, sweat dripping into his eyes. His arm was outstretched, having taken the opportunity of the man’s open guard to pierce into his torso. The guard clutched the sword protruding from his stomach and gave a gurgle.

Scott fumbled for his ankle and whimpered as his hand came back bloody. He wiggled his toes and was relived to find he still could, thought he pain that laced through his leg at the motion was enough to momentarily blind him.

The bell began to ring.

Scott lifted his head up, his breath coming fast. “No,” he whispered. He struggled to his feet. It wasn’t time yet! Where was Stiles? “Deaton!”

His every step was agony, but Scott pushed himself, coming down from over the ramparts to where King Peter and the rest of his court watched with horror at the fight raging between Derek and Chris.

Scott collapsed briefly against railing as Derek swung around, narrowly missing a blow. He could see in the wolf-man’s eyes a sort of despair as he too realized what the bell’s ringing meant. They were going to miss it. The eclipse would pass without Peter seeing Stiles and Derek both human.

“This can’t be right,” Scott said, if only to himself. “It can’t end this way.”

There was a cry of pain and Scott looked up to see Chris go down, clutching his arm. Blood spurted the air and splattered on the flood in tandem with the screams of various court ladies. The rest were silent as Chris collapsed on the ground, not yet dead, but not able to pick up his sword to continue the fight.

Derek stepped through the blood splatters and walked towards Peter. His face was filled with determination and beneath that pain.

“Now, now,” Peter began, standing. He held his scepter in one hand as if that would be any use against a sword already stained with blood.

A single gasp cut through the air and Scott turned to the door, at one with the rest of the watching court. There, through the doorway, a hawk soared towards Derek. Scott held his breath, the world around them all darkening.

Outside, the moon moved and like the joining of two lost souls began to cover the sun.

“No,” Peter whispered.

In the center of the cathedral where the sun cut through the stone, the hawk glowed. Derek raced the last couple of steps to Peter’s throne and grasped his chin. “Watch,” he commanded. “You cannot control us anymore.”

“No!” Peter cried, but it was too late. Scott felt his heart swell as he watched Stiles straighten, his arms lowering down and his face rounding. He blinked, and then it was if the hawk had never been.

Stiles glared at Peter, in one hand his hawk jesses. He threw them down in the space between himself and the throne. “Your curse has been broken.”

Derek stepped away, his face as enraptured as everyone else’s. Stiles was beautiful, all fury and scorn as he turned his eyes from Peter to the rest of the court. “Is this the man you want to lead you?” he asked. “A man who cheats and lies. A man who would curse his own nephew with the manner of a beast to get back against misguided slights?”

“Stiles,” a voice breathed. Out from the crowd stepped a man Scott did not recognize. “Son.”

Stiles turned, his back to Peter. “Father?”

Stiles’ father stepped forward, arms outstretched, but before he could reach his son Peter yelled, enraged. He grasped the end of his scepter, pulling off the gem to reveal the point of a spear.

“No!” Scott called, but Derek was faster. In one great motion, he swept the air with his sword and caught Peter in the neck, beheading him.

Stiles gagged visibly and he was caught in his father’s arms. He collapsed into them, whispering something too low for Scott to hear.

“Stiles,” Derek said, stepping away from Peter’s body. Stiles turned, disengaging from his father to run to his lover.

Derek bent down, lifting Stiles up in joy. Stiles laughed. “You’re real, I can feel you,” he cried, hugging Derek close to him.

“Yes,” Derek replied. He kissed Stiles’ cheek, and then his lips. “We are here. Together.”

Scott turned his eyes to Stiles’ father, whose face was filled with a sort of bewildered amazement, and then to the confused court, and then to the doorway where Deaton stood, a tear falling down his cheek.

Deaton looked up and met his gaze. Scott nodded to him, just once. Deaton returned it and together they turned back to the sight of two lovers forever reunited at last.


	5. Epilogue

“I proclaim you, Scott, son of Melissa, pardoned of all pervious ails under the rule of the former king and tyrant,” Derek stated. He was dressed in red and silver, all the finery of a king that Scott had thought would seem odd upon the man he’d known, but actually seemed to embolden his noble character.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Scott said, still kneeling before the new king’s throne. On the chair to his left, the king’s consort smiled at him. Stiles looked gorgeous, as he always did, in red and blue; his crown gold to contrast his husband’s silver.

Derek stood, facing the new court, made of those found not loyal to the dead king and of those who’d helped Derek and Stiles in some way when they’d been in exile. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Deaton, the new royal physician, shift in place with a secretive smile.

Scott looked up at his new king to see Derek smirk at him. “As you all know by now, I seem to be down a captain for my new royal guard.”

It was true, with the eventual loss of his arm, Chris had retired gracefully to the countryside. Derek had let him, mostly at the mercy of Stiles despite the scar that still adorned his chest. In recompense, Chris had allowed his daughter to remain in the capital. Allison now trained as one of the royal guard.

Scott thought she was the most beautiful lass in all the land, but he hadn’t had the courage to mention that to her yet.

“Because of this, I will today appoint a new captain,” Derek continued.

Scott frowned, wondering if he was supposed to move to make way for the new person. He glanced up once more at Derek, but the king was unsheathing his sword. He placed it lightly on Scott’s shoulder. “May all those here be witness, for I proclaim Scott here my new captain, to train my warriors and lead them when I cannot.”

Scott’s jaw dropped down and blood rushed to his ears, but he could barely here it over the sudden cheering of the court. Derek resheathed his sword and reached down. Scott accepted the king’s arm, letting himself be pulled to his feet. “Your majesty-” he began.

“Derek,” the king told him firmly. “After all that you did to help us, you can at least call me by my given name.”

“And besides,” Stiles added, coming up to lace an arm through Derek’s. “As the captain of the guard you are totally allowed to boss Derek around now.”

Scott laughed as Derek glared at his husband, though it was soon softened by the blinding smile Stiles gave back to the king. He retreated from them, heading over to where Deaton stood.

“Congratulations,” Deaton said as Scott stopped in front of him. “You’ll do well.”

“I hope so,” Scott said. He turned his eyes back to where Derek had his arm wrapped around Stiles’ waist, looking for once  _happy_. “They deserve the best people they can surrounding them.”

“Well,” Deaton laughed. “At the very least, they have us.”

“They do,” Scott nodded. “For as long as we are able.”

“Amen,” Deaton murmured. He chuckled at Scott’s look. “Come,” he said, clapping Scott on the shoulder. “Now, it’s time to celebrate!”


End file.
